


Acts of Defiance

by antigrav_vector



Series: Acts of Defiance [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Choices, F/M, Flashbacks, I blame CAPRBB slack chat, Identity Issues, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Multi, No Dialogue, Past Bucky Barnes/Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Rebellion, Self-Determination, Self-Discovery, Self-cest, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 02:13:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10844361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antigrav_vector/pseuds/antigrav_vector
Summary: After the catastrophic failure of his mission to kill his target on the Helicarrier, the Asset has some decisions to make about his mission.His choices surprise even him.





	Acts of Defiance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chiyume](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiyume/gifts).



> This is all [Chiyume's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiyume/pseuds/Chiyume) fault. I don't even know what this is.
> 
> Inspired by [this very NSFW ART](http://chiyume.tumblr.com/post/159977311814/theyll-punish-him-for-it-no-doubt-but-he).
> 
> Enjoy the Bucky-cest.
> 
> Unbeta'ed. Please excuse any remaining typos.

Shaking with exertion and unaccustomed emotion, the Asset leaned against a building within sight of the Potomac, his breath coming hard. The Helicarriers he'd been sent in to prevent his target from destroying lay in smoking ruins, half submerged in the water, and SHIELD Headquarters was in flames.

The Asset was still dripping wet from his dive into the river to pull his target out of the water.

And that... that was the most confusing thing about his whole mission. He could accept that he had failed to kill his target (multiple times). He could accept that he had failed to protect the Helicarriers (which had been of secondary importance to killing his target anyway). He could accept that he needed to be reprogrammed and repaired.

But he... he didn't know what was going on, and it left him feeling wrong-footed. Everything in him that remembered anything was screaming at him that he knew his target. That he didn't want to kill that man.

_stubborn punk._

He wasn't supposed to think for himself. Wasn't supposed to _feel_. That was counter to his purpose. Everything he'd known in the past... however long it had been -- he wasn't sure; time meant nothing while he was in cryo -- had crumbled in front of him. Around him.

And it was all thanks to his target.

The Asset shook his wet hair back out of his face, and ignored the smell of the river water soaking his gear as best he could. He was compromised. Utterly.

He suddenly missed his mask keenly, feeling exposed by that admission of weakness for all that no one was around to see him. It was time he took action; he could take advantage of the chaos in the city to get to one of the safe houses nearby, and resupply. He needed a fresh set of weapons, some clothes that didn't make him stand out on the street, and some money.

Pushing himself back out of his slump and to his feet, the Asset forced his thoughts aside as best he could. He'd failed, and would be punished regardless of the outcome of his next attempt. That much was clear to him already. But it would be worse if he failed to kill his target, which he would need to plan once he had gotten to the safe house a few blocks away and ransacked it for what supplies it contained. 

Or at least appear to.

The spectacularly defiant thought crossed his mind with the suddenness and bright flash of a lightning bolt and made him physically flinch, expecting to be hit or slammed to the ground.

When nothing happened, the Asset considered the amendment to his plan, such as it was.

He could resupply, and rid himself of as many of the trackers on his person as possible -- the one in his left arm would have to wait until he could find a set of tools -- and not go back. His handlers would pursue him, do their best to recapture him, and then any resistance or hint of personality would be burned out of him as viciously as they could manage.

If he was going to succeed, he would need allies, or, at the very least, a way to evade recapture.

Based on their conversation on the Helicarrier, his target would probably be willing to assist him. The Asset didn't understand _why_ , but that didn't matter.

Suddenly glad he'd pulled his target out of the river, the Asset nodded to himself and forced his aching body into motion. He'd wasted enough time already.

He met no one during the short walk, and decided that the best course of action was to behave as if nothing was wrong. He walked boldly up to the safe house, let himself in, and proceeded to ignore the cameras and other security measures. After he'd taken what he wanted -- pulling on a spare mask, loading up on guns, ammunition, cash, and some field rations -- he turned to the nearest camera, and calmly reported, "Resupply complete. Proceeding to pursue target."

Satisfied that he'd done what he could to delay pursuit by acting as normally as he could manage and leaving a message that ought to leave his handlers with the impression that he wasn't contemplating outright rebellion, the Asset left, locking the doors behind him, as he would have normally.

It did mean that his handlers knew his location at that specific timepoint, and might help them track him, but he needed the supplies. Without them, he wouldn't get far, and it might draw more attention if he _didn't_ check in long enough for that.

But now what?

He needed to decide on the best path forward. If he truly wasn't going to go back to his handlers, he would have to find a way to dispose of the trackers that looked accidental.

Perhaps he should go pick another fight with his target, after all, he thought, smirking to himself behind his new mask. It would be the move least likely to raise suspicion, at this point.

Of course, the fact that he'd pulled his unconscious and drowning target out of the Potomac, and probably saved his life in the process, before tearing off to calm his mind and resupply wasn't going to count in his favour, if his handlers caught up with him before he could safely disappear.

He had to hope he hadn't been observed when he'd done that.

In the chaos of the sheer destruction that his target had caused, it was even possible that he hadn't been seen.

The Asset would have to move fast, and hope he didn't lose that particular bet.

_Monty was always better at poker._

Shaking his head to clear it of the strange thought, which had been in his own voice for all that he didn't recognize the tones, the Asset made his way back down to the river. He arrived in the vicinity of the somewhat exposed stretch of river bank where he'd left his target just in time to see his target's team haul the guy up off the ground and into an obviously stolen vehicle.

He would have to track them somehow. The Black Widow was good at disappearing. Better than he was, truth be told, the Asset admitted to himself. His target was far from subtle, though. The Asset made note of the car's plates, make, model, and colour, and took off after them. With his target's injuries and their own, it was likely they would be taking him to a location where they could rest and recover. Probably the nearest one, regardless of its security.

The Asset thought back to his briefing as he strode up to the nearest empty vehicle and broke into it. The potential location of the target's safehouse was information that had not been covered. Perhaps it had not been available. The target's last known residence had been here in DC, though he had been spotted in New York several times over the past month.

The Asset carefully waited ten seconds before starting his own stolen vehicle and beginning to tail his marks through the suburbs.

As it turned out, they didn't go far. A few kilometres later, the Black Widow -- who likely had noticed him tailing them after two intersections -- pulled their stolen car into a parking garage near the outskirts of DC. Rather than follow them in, the Asset chose to drive past. He needed to dump the car before he approached the place.

Less than a klick down the road, he found a closed gas station. 

That would do. Carefully parking the car mostly out of sight and gathering up all of his gear, the Asset paused to rifle through the glove compartment and centre console for anything useful. What he found was everything but: a few empty CD cases, a half-full pack of chewing gum, and a few antacids.

Giving up on the idea of taking anything to add to his supplies, he climbed out of the vehicle and settled his leathers more comfortably on his shoulders, then checked his knives in their sheathes. He might need them, if the Widow took offence to his presence. He knew he could take her down if he had to, but he had done enough damage to his arm on this mission already. Avoiding further engagements was high on his list of priorities, unless they were unavoidable.

His arm was solidly built, but it could still be disabled or rendered inoperable if enough of the components failed. He could feel the faint tingle that signified the first tier warning. A few components were non-functional, but not enough to cause his arm to malfunction.

The Asset slipped into the parking garage, sticking to the shadows and scanning the ground floor of the large space for the car his target had been in. It was nowhere to be seen.

He debated searching the rest of the structure, then decided against it. That would only make his presence here more noticeable, and he was trying to keep a low profile for the time being.

Instead, the Asset made his way back out to the street, and surveyed the buildings along the other side of the narrow but relatively well-traveled thoroughfare. Most were low, two- or three-story buildings with flat roofs covered in HVAC equipment and ventilation exhausts. Not one of them was tall enough to give him a good vantage point.

The row of aging and run-down apartment buildings lining the nearby cross-street were far more suitable.

Picking one out, the Asset quietly tested the door. Finding it unlocked, he slipped inside, wanting to shake his head at the utter lack of security.

Rather than let himself worry about that, he made his way up to the roof of the building through the stairwell. If all went well and his handlers left him in peace to do his stakeout, he would have a week to watch and wait for a good moment. By then he would need to either have a plan or allow himself to be retaken and repaired.

The thought sent a visceral shudder of repulsion through him for no reason he could discern, which struck him as strange. That thought had never truly bothered him before. It had been a fundamental truth of his existence for as long as he could recall.

Settling in on the roof in the warm evening air, the Asset began scanning the windows of the building opposite him. It was a civilian hospital, surprisingly, and was currently approximately at three-quarters capacity. After a few minutes, the Asset finally spotted the Black Widow leaving one of the wards on the fifth floor.

Her influence was clear in the placement of the beds far out of sight of the window, and the way the lights in the room cast no clear silhouettes. He could just catch the occasional glimpse of a pair of guards posted at the door to keep watch.

If he'd truly been here to take the shot, the Asset had to admit, it would have taken some work. The task would have been far from impossible, but he would have had to take the time to search out a usable vantage point. Or, if he decided he didn't care about collateral damage and possible news headlines, he could fight his way through the hospital.

His target would surely put up some resistance if he tried that, though.

_punk never did know when to give up._

The strange comments that seemed to echo through his mind were starting to get unnerving. They felt like they were being voiced by someone else. Someone with Opinions and, bafflingly, an emotional investment in the man who had been designated his target, but whom he could not recall ever meeting before.

Perhaps further observation would help him tease out the reason for the unjustified familiarity and the thoughts that hinted at memories he couldn't seem to remember.

Three hours and a change of rooftop later, the Asset had found a vantage point that might work if he was careful about choosing the moment to strike. He was still hesitant to actually do it, and to his utter lack of surprise the intrusive thoughts plaguing him seemed to approve of that.

The Asset was starting to suspect that the voice belonged to this 'Bucky' that the target had confused him with.

But did that mean _he_ was Bucky?

The Asset wasn't sure.

Setting the thoughts aside, he settled down to watch his target and his strike team recuperate. The dark-skinned man who'd fought him from the air on what appeared to be mechanical wings had turned out to be surprisingly persistent and well-trained. The Asset thought he recognised the fighting style as that favoured by the US Air Force, and wasn't quite sure why that made the strange new part of him that had awakened on this mission so uneasy.

The Asset had dealt with all of the Service branches on his missions. Somehow he knew that with certainty, for all that he could not remember any of said missions. He'd never stopped to question that knowledge before, but now it gave him pause.

Just how _did_ he know that?

Scowling, the Asset prodded at the question from a few different angles, but gave up after none of them gave him additional insight.

A flicker of movement inside his target's ward brought his attention back to more immediate questions. Should he remove his trackers now? He could potentially be staying right here for quite some time. That would make the trackers' lack of movement more plausible. He could just abandon them here.

The half-feral smile that tugged at his lips was mostly the fault of whatever was making him have those strange thoughts. The Asset knew that. But on this point they were fully in agreement.

It didn't take him long to remove the four trackers in his gear and his weapons. He hesitated before attempting to reach the one in his left arm. He had no tools, and it was deliberately placed where it would be tough to access, inside the outer layer of reactive panelling at the back of his elbow and under a tangle of sensitive wiring. He would have to be very careful not to disturb anything.

It would be a difficult task, made more so because he would not be able to see what he was doing unless he dared leave in search of a mirror.

Considering it for a moment, the Asset decided he would have done it were he simply weighing the risk of getting caught or being seen by his target or the Black Widow against the reward of getting rid of the tracker. The risk that his handlers would notice that one tracker was mobile while the others were not, however...

He could, of course, simply pocket the trackers he had removed, but a large part of him rebelled against the idea.

He didn't _want_ to.

Tempted to groan -- another anomaly; the Asset was silent on missions unless absolutely required, and had never wanted to break that particular proscription before -- he tugged his leather glove off his right hand, and tucked it in his pocket for the moment.

He was not particularly attached to it, but the directive not to leave behind any fingerprints had been ingrained so deeply in him that it had become a reflexive need. It felt deeply wrong not to have his glove on. He forced himself to set aside the feeling as best he could for the moment. He would need the added sensitivity the skin of his fingertips could give him, if he wanted to remove the tracker without accidentally disabling his arm.

Leaving himself at such a disadvantage would spell disaster for his plan.

The Asset set that thought aside. He could worry about that after he had removed the tracker.

Settling himself in a comfortable seated position with his back against the rough brick of the roof access stairwell, the Asset gingerly brought his left arm up and used the metal hand to grip his right shoulder as a means to keep his arm steady.

He could generally count on his ability to remain stoic through whatever pain stimuli were thrown at him, but with this new ... presence ... in his head, he wasn't as certain that he could succeed. He wanted to be sure that, in the event that he messed up, he wouldn't injure himself more severely than necessary to remove the tracker.

Taking a deep steadying breath and realising distantly that his heart was pounding as though he'd run at least ten kilometres, the Asset swallowed against the tightness in his throat and set to work.

He hesitated before reaching under the plating of his arm, expecting visceral pain for all that he didn't remember ever feeling it. He knew it was likely to come in the same way he knew that the new voice in his head was very likely this 'Bucky' his target seemed to be searching for.

Gritting his teeth, the Asset worked his fingers in, careful not to move the arm. He didn't want to catch his right hand in the mechanisms, or risk disabling the arm if his fingers got tangled in the wiring and yanked the contacts loose.

It took him a couple of tries to find the tracker, forced to work by feel and without the benefit of the sun's light to help him. It had sunk low enough to the horizon to be obscured by the low buildings, and leave the Asset with only the faint glow of twilight to see by.

It would be enough; it had to be. But he had always disliked working in the dark despite his excellent night vision.

When his fingers finally closed on the tracker, the Asset felt 'Bucky' sigh in relief. He was almost tempted to follow suit, physically.

Forcing himself not to let his muscles relax, lest he lose his grip on the tracker, the Asset gingerly worked it loose. It took several minutes of worrying at the tiny device to break the glue that held it in place, even with the Asset's enhanced strength. In the process, the Asset shocked himself on a stripped wire, nearly tore two others free when his muscles involuntarily jerked, and sent a strong jolt of pain down his spine.

By the time he'd gotten the tracker out and stared at it where it rested in the palm of his hand, the Asset was sweating and his breath was coming hard. It caught in his mask, the hot moisture clinging to his skin, and he knew that the moment he relaxed his right hand would begin shaking.

He'd done it. 'Bucky' was whooping triumphantly, and the Asset felt a shiver of emotion go through him. He was free.

Free to go where he liked, and figure out just why his target was so important to 'Bucky'.

Free to figure out who this 'Bucky' was. Who he was.

Free to...

The Asset shifted where he sat, suddenly feeling the adrenaline coursing through his veins stop making him shaky and start causing other more annoying problems.

He was used to this, he knew. His body remembered many missions that had ended this way, even if his mind didn't. Physically he was calm as could be, all of a sudden, and _interested_ in a way he didn't remember ever feeling.

The new presence, Bucky, was urging him onwards. The Asset could tell Bucky wanted whatever was about to happen. That Bucky enjoyed the act of masturbating in a way that the Asset didn't.

It was enough to make the Asset curious. He'd been trained infiltration and espionage in addition to assassination, and he was starting to think this 'Bucky' knew something he didn't about the act. He wanted to know what it was.

Resettling himself more comfortably, letting his legs splay out, bent at the knees, the Asset set the last tracker in the small pile with the rest. The stressed tension in his muscles seemed to flow out of him as Bucky encouraged him to explore. He seemed to approve of the Asset's curiosity and it made them both feel warm.

The Asset decided he liked feeling warm.

This was the diametrical opposite to the chill of cryo or the numbness of a mission.

The Asset reached down to run his fingertips over the bulging front of his pants, almost hissing at the way it made his hips twitch. If he was forbidden to leave fingerprints behind, he reflected, this would be a million times worse in his handlers' eyes. Fingerprints could be explained away, if any were ever found. Genetic evidence of any kind of his existence would be far more difficult to contradict.

That thought somehow made the shock of sensation that the touch sent through him even better.

 _Steve,_ Bucky's voice seemed to ring out loud for all that it was only in the silence of his thoughts, almost anguished but clearly enjoying himself, _Steve come on, don't tease._

The Asset reached for the button and zipper of his pants, tugging them open and biting back the sound that wanted to escape him when the cool evening air hit his skin. He wasn't wearing anything underneath the pants, and that meant the move sent a wave of goosebumps down his arms.

Bucky seemed to groan.

The Asset hadn't even done anything that counted as stimulation yet, but he was hard enough that he wondered whether he could come untouched. He was starting to think that this Bucky had a point about the teasing.

Pulling at the gaping fly of his pants with his left hand until he could reach in with his right and free his dick from the heavy confining fabric, the Asset shuddered as the friction of the fabric fell away. He hadn't even realized that it had been rubbing at his skin until the sensation was gone, replaced by the cool breath of air stirred by a light breeze. It left his skin suddenly feeling chilled, and the Asset bit his lip to hold back his groan.

 _Touch me,_ Bucky whined at someone (at him?), _I need it._

The Asset found he couldn't disagree with the sentiment. Somehow, for all that he couldn't remember ever feeling need like that, Bucky could, and was doing his best to share the knowledge in what the Asset recognized as a brazen bid to make him touch himself.

He knew Bucky would only get more insistent, but what Bucky wanted in no way went against the Asset's own desires so he reached down with his right hand, lightly running the tips of his fingers up the underside of his cock from root to tip, and not bothering to resist the shudder that went through him at the touch. 

_Yes, more, like that,_ Bucky encouraged, and it sounded like he was addressing someone other than the Asset, again. 

The words came with a feeling that there was something the Asset should remember. A flash of what might have been a memory had accompanied the words. For the barest moment, the Asset had thought he was laid out flat on a cot issued by the US Army, with a lithe brunette wearing Victory Curls leaning over him, all bare skin and satisfied smile, with his hands gripping her ass as she tormented him.

The image of the brunette sheathing him, not allowing him to move as she took her own pleasure from him, using him to make herself come before allowing him to do the same, was one of the hottest things he could have imagined for himself. The Asset felt the tension in his legs turn into a shake in his muscles that only made the pleasure more intense. 

He knew that the encounter with the brunette couldn't possibly be real, though. That had to be something his imagination had cooked up out of the things that lay in the murky depths of his subconscious.

Didn't it?

Shaking his head to clear it, the Asset continued teasing lightly at his exposed flesh. The touches that hinted at more felt good; they were starting to send the warmth that he'd been feeling from the start spreading through his belly, radiating outwards from his hard dick, until the sensation felt almost strong enough to choke him.

 _Oh God,_ Bucky swore, _you're worse than Peggy._

Startled, the Asset paused in his movements. Who the hell was Peggy? He knew Steve was the target he hadn't been able to kill -- the only target he hadn't been able to -- but Peggy was no one.

 _Shut up and finish what you started,_ Bucky snarked at ... someone. The Asset thought it wasn't him, thought it might have been the target, but set aside the question. The words applied regardless of whom they had been addressed to.

The Asset rolled his eyes, but allowed himself to be directed. He started the movements of his hand back up again, this time daring to use more pressure. The feeling made his hips jerk upward in an involuntary thrust, and Bucky hissed in satisfaction.

Daringly, the Asset experimented with different touches, then, and let Bucky's enthusiasm guide him. Putting the heel of his right hand against the head of his cock, and then thrusting up into the pressure felt nice. The movement ground the length of his hand against his dick and made him arch his back. His toes curled against the insoles of his boots.

Pushing the boundaries a little further, the Asset tried delicately touching the head of his dick with his flesh fingertips.

The sensation made him bite his lip to keep from groaning out loud.

No wonder his handlers were so against allowing him this indulgence. If he were to get distracted like this during a mission... This kind of activity could easily get him killed if he forgot himself and made too much noise or cause him to miss an opening to kill his target.

The Asset decided he didn't care what his handlers thought. He wasn't going back.

Pushing the thoughts aside, he shifted his hips. While the feeling of the fabric against his skin had felt almost nice earlier, he definitely wasn't enjoying the way his zipper rubbed at the delicate skin as he moved. The Asset moved to hold the metal teeth away from his skin with his left hand without consciously thinking about it.

He wanted to be able move freely.

The Asset wrapped his hand around the base of his dick and drew it slowly up the rigid length of flesh. When his fingers reached the underside of the head, a drop of pale white rose up. The Asset couldn't swallow back the quiet whine that rose in his throat that time.

_Steve,_ Bucky whined, _do you want me to beg?_

The words came with a flash of a vision of the target leaning over him like the brunette had and a sense memory of gritted teeth and sweat in his hair.

The Asset suddenly recognized the tension in his muscles. He wanted more. Needed it almost more than he needed his next breath.

He tightened his grip on his dick slightly, and pulled his hand up over the now-shiny head of his cock, and distantly realized he was almost as sweaty as the man in that mental image.

The Asset threw his head back, narrowly avoiding hitting it on the brick wall behind him, in a bid to get his hair out of his face, and realized he was almost gasping for breath, his lungs working harder than he could remember.

It reminded him far more of that flash of memory than he cared to admit. After that thought hit him, it was like a dam breaking; the images came faster and faster, seeming to follow the pace of his hand, until he had to force them aside to take a breath. The Asset could no longer tell himself apart from Bucky. The target's hands were on him, first small and delicate, then larger and broader than they had any right to be. The brunette's mouth trailed down his chest leaving behind bites and bruises that, rather than hurting, only served to drive him higher into ecstasy. The target's _Steve's_ mouth on his cock, swallowing him down until he couldn't breathe for the sensations running through him.

 _Harder,_ Bucky said, _I won't break._

Past resistance, the Asset followed orders, biting his lip until he tasted blood as he started his hand moving again. He hadn't realized he'd stopped stroking his cock until he had to force the muscles of his arm to unlock.

Sweat beaded on his brow as he worked his cock. The mask he wore suddenly felt stifling as the Asset gasped for air and the tension in him built and built, making his heart pound and his muscles shake. He felt his heart beat against his hand as he touched himself, stroking the sensitive skin in his hand until he thought he might come apart at the seams. As he spiraled higher and higher, the Asset felt his eyes fall shut, and then, with a convulsive shudder, he came.

The world faded away into the very most distant reaches of his awareness, as his hips thrust up into his hand in jerky movements out of his control. Splatters of white hit the front of his tac jacket, and a high keening sound was torn free of his throat. 

The Asset relaxed against the brick behind him, breathing hard, and waited for his body to calm.

 _Was it good for you too?_ Bucky's words definitely seemed to be directed at him this time.

A smirk stole across the Asset's face. What he'd (re-)learned tonight had been good, and had whetted his appetite for more. It didn't take much thought to come to a decision: he was going to keep this Bucky fella around. At least until he figured out who he was. And possibly even after that.

There was a good chance Bucky had a lot more to show him, and a good Asset never passed up worthwhile intel.


End file.
